Don't Die, Sam Winchester (Season 15 AU)
by Kalliope26
Summary: "He's not . . .dying, Dean. The wound just won't close." "What does that mean?" Dean said. "It means the wound is supernatural," Sam said. "But it's not deadly. We'll wrap it up, change the bandages everyday, and continue like normal."


[[This is an AU of season 15. I started it before the season premier, but I'm pretty happy with the things that I guessed correctly.]]

Dean held an arm out to to keep Sam from stepping up beside him. He and Cas had formed a protective Sam-sandwich and Dean would like to keep it that way. His brother gripped the iron stake Dean had handed to him and held his free hand against the bullet wound in his shoulder, trying to staunch the bleeding. Dean needed to focus on the coming swarm but couldn't get the faint sight of blood leaking over Sam's fingers out of his head.

But there wasn't time for him to wallow. The Zombies descended, gaping mouths and dead eyes. Dean tried to keep his back to his brother, but there were too many. He stabbed his stake through zombie heart after zombie heart, the slurp of blood squelching every time he yanked the stake back out of the monsters' chests.

"Sam!" he screamed. "Cas!" He couldn't find them, couldn't hear or see either of them. He used the stake as a bat, hitting three zombies in a row so hard that their rotted heads flew right off. He ran through the horde. "Sam! Sammy?" It was too dark.

_No, no, not like this._ Every time their backs were up against the wall, every time he thought he lost Sam for good, Dean couldn't accept it. It didn't matter how much borrowed time they had, didn't matter how many close scrapes they gotten out of, he was never ready. He could live to be a hundred years old and he still wouldn't be ready.

"Sam!" Where was Cas? Maybe the two of them were together. Maybe Cas had Sam and would keep him safe. Dean swung his stake again, sending heads rolling. He couldn't keep this up for much longer. He'd be overwhelmed. But if Cas had Sam, then it would be alright. They'd take down Chuck. As long as Sam . .

"Dean!" Not the voice he was hoping for, but a relief nonetheless. Dean fought his way toward the trenchcoat wearing angel. Cas was streaked with blood, in his hair, down the side of his face. His angel blade was coated in it. For a moment, the two of them fought side-by-side like warriors, they way they had in purgatory. And for a moment, Dean almost wondered if they'd get out of this.

But there were just too many of them.

"Dean! Castiel!" That voice made Dean look up and start running almost on pure instinct. It didn't matter where he was, he needed to get to Sam. It might not do exactly the same thing for Castiel, but the angel was running right next to him.

One good thing about Zombies, they were strong but not considerably fast. Dean body slammed a few of them to the ground but beyond that he was able to stay pretty clear. He searched for Sam, trying to peer through the unnatural darkness that had descended through this damn cemetery.

They'd left Jack's corpse behind. Dean couldn't think of that right now. There were too many complicated emotions that he wouldn't be able to sift through. He'd never sift through them if he didn't find his damn brother, hopefully alive and _fine_.

"Dean!"

Dean had been so focused on running that he almost blew past his brother. Sam was leaning against a tree, his hands on his knees, bloody steak clutched in an equally bloody hand. He was breathing rapidly, but even in the dim light Dean could see his brother smile when he saw them.

"We have to get out of here," Dean said. Sam's arm hung limp to his side as he stood up. It was like a beacon, something Dean knew he'd need to pay attention to, but not right then. They needed to get out of here first. "Think you can make it back to the car?"

Sam gave him one of his many flavors of bitch-face. "I'm fine."

That was a damned lie, but Dean didn't call him on it. He needed Sam to be fine as much as Sam needed to say it.

"How is it that every time I show up, you two bumbleheads are in worse trouble than before?" A familiar voice said. Someone grabbed Dean's shoulder and he felt like his stomach wrapped around his ears as he was yanked out of the graveyard and slammed into the war room in the bunker.

Gabriel was sitting across from him, legs propped up on the table, grinning at Dean like he'd just starred in a porn special.

Dean shot to his feet, looking around for Sam and Cas.

"Don't worry, it's not like I would leave your brother out there to bleed out," Gabriel said. "He's safe in his bedroom, Cas is keeping him company. He'll heal up that bullet wound and be right as rain, but first." He lowered his feet and leaned forward. "I figured we needed to talk."

"Yeah, I don't really have time for that," Dean growled. He pushed the chair back and started for Sam's room. Gabriel grabbed Dean's shoulder and held him back.

"Dean, you need to tell me what happened." Gabriel's voice was uncharacteristically serious. Dean closed his eyes. He didn't want to picture Jack kneeling in front of him. The way his eyes looked. They reminded him too much of another time, when his brother knelt before him and said the same thing.

"I understand."

But it hadn't happened. Sam had arrived. Dean hadn't shot Jack.

Not that it had changed much.

"Your dad's a dick," Dean growled. His fists shook. "But that's not exactly news." He shrugged out of Gabriel's hold and went to check on his brother.

Sam was in his room. Cas sat in the chair next to it, like Sam was lying on his deathbed or something. Dean hated the way his brother's face looked. Ashen, lines deepened by grief and pain. Cas didn't look much better, but at least he wasn't bleeding out.

"What, are you waiting for an invitation?" Dean asked, gesturing to Sam. "Get with the healing already."

Cas didn't respond, just looked down like he couldn't meet Dean's eyes.

"Cas!"

"He can't, Dean," Sam said softly. "He tried."

No. No, no, no, this was _not_ happening. After everything they'd gone through the last few days. With mom, with Jack, and even damn _Chuck_. Dean didn't want to process this. He didn't want to think about this.

He pushed Cas out of the way so he could examine Sam's wound. Sam didn't say anything, just leaned back slightly so Dean could have a better view.

_Dammit, Sam_, Dean thought. He just had to shoot that gun, didn't he? Not that it had done anything. Jack had still died. Now Chuck was in the wind, zombies had risen, and who knew what other crazy crap was going on in the world just then. Dean had been ready to die to take down Jack. Maybe he hated himself for it. Maybe he hadn't wanted to think about what that would've done to Sam if he'd killed Sam's kid and then died himself. But that was how Dean was. Dean could make the sacrifice play. He'd earned that.

But Sam . . .

"He's not -" Cas swallowed when Dean looked at him. "He's not . . .dying, Dean. The wound just won't close."

"What does that mean?" Dean said.

"It means the wound is supernatural," Sam said. "But it's not deadly. We'll wrap it up, change the bandages everyday, and continue like normal."

"Continue like normal?" Dean felt like all the air was being sucked from his lungs. Sam was lying there, his shoulder bloody, and looking at Dean like he was trying to convey something. Usually Sam's expressions were an open book, Dean could read him better than anyone. But he didn't want to read whatever message his little brother was trying to send him. That this was fine, that the two of them would get through it. The apocalypse had started. Apocalypse 2.0. No, this was bigger than that. They were going up against GOD. And his number one man was down and injured.

"Will Chuck's wound close?" Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head. "As far as I can tell, the two wounds are linked. If Sam's won't close, then Chuck's won't either."

Dean nodded and tried to control his face. That should've been good news, but all it meant was that the big bad they were facing was linked to Sam's life. And a wound like that on Chuck was like being flicked with a rubber band. Sam was left with a major handicap.

"Dean, it's fine," Sam said. He pushed himself up with his free hand and stood. Dean had settled on the foot of Sam's bed and jumped up as soon as his brother did, but didn't offer his support. Sam's thunderous, grieved expression told him not to. "Chuck killed Jack," Sam whispered, and the words felt like a lightning bolt to the chest. Dean swallowed and looked away. "We got work to do."

Dean forced himself to shelve his worry, push down his fear, and look into his brother's eyes. "Damn straight."

Sam allowed his brother to fuss over him. It was protocol at this point, easier to let Dean fuss than try to push him away. Besides, it was calming for his brother. Dean needed to feel useful, especially when there was nothing he could do. So Sam didn't protest when Dean helped him walk to the library even though Sam knew he could have done it himself. He drank the water Dean put in front of him. He ate the greasy food he would have put his nose up at if they'd been at a diner. Anything to keep Dean calm, because he was panicking and nothing good ever happened when Dean panicked.

Sam sat at a table in the library, reading over _The Execution of Gods_ for the millionth time. It didn't have anything useful. It was talking mainly of pagan gods and monsters, not the Almighty. But he kept hoping there would be something useful in it. Some glimmer of hope.

But he could hardly read the words. They kept blurring and he'd have to carefully blink the tears away before his brother noticed. He didn't want to do this. He wanted to go back to that cemetery and get Jack's body. He wanted at least six months between the people he loved dying. He wanted some time to grieve instead of his shoulder burning and the slick feeling of blood leaking down the length of his arm, sticking his clothes to his skin.

Everything they'd gone through. Everything that had happened to them over the course of their entire lives had all been a setup for Chuck to watch for his own amusement. He murdered Jack.

Sam couldn't believe that he'd murdered Jack.

_I should've aimed for his heart,_ he thought bitterly, but then ground his teeth. If he'd aimed for Chuck's heart, the sun would've died, and everybody would just die anyway. It wouldn't have solved anything.

The pulse in his shoulder disagreed.

Gabriel waltzed into the room and threw his arm around Sam's shoulders, making Sam hiss in pain. "So, how's the research going?"

Sam pushed him off, sucking air in through his teeth in order to avoid a grimace. A glance at Dean showed his brother glaring at Gabriel with enough fury to light the archangel on fire. Dean was itching for a fight, but Sam hoped his brother would reign it in. Gabriel being back was just par for the course at this point, but he was by far their most powerful player against Chuck, and Sam really didn't need Dean to go and alienate the archangel.

Gabriel frowned when he noticed blood on his hand. "Didn't Cas heal you up?" he asked.

Sam sighed. "It won't heal."

"Damn." Gabriel's hands tightened into fists. For a second, he actually looked worried, before his expression closed off and he looked away. "That's one piece of the board made useless."

Dean's expression, if possible, became even more murderous. Sam had better control over his face, and kept the jab from hurting him. Gabriel was fickle, Sam never knew in exactly what direction the archangel would go, so if making fun of Sam kept Gabriel in the bunker and on their side, all the better.

"Do you know how to take down Chuck?" Dean asked angrily.

Gabriel sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Short of killing him?"

"I'm not against killing him," Dean growled.

"We can't kill him," Sam reminded him. That was the only reason Sam was still alive. "The sun will go out, remember?"

Dean's teeth ground audibly. "Could we take out both him and the darkness?"

"And up our chances of dying by taking on two all-powerful beings? I know you're suicidal, Dean, but don't you think we should at least _try_ to win?" Gabriel's sneer was pronounced, and Sam was worried he would need to stand up to stop Dean from punching the archangel. They didn't need to be fighting amongst themselves. All of them were on edge, but the last thing they needed was to fight each other.

The dull pain in Sam's shoulder throbbed, and he knew the bandage had soaked through. If the wound never closed, did he need to worry about bleeding out?

He looked over at Dean and met his brother's eye. Dean's expression changed microscopically and Sam inwardly grimaced. He hadn't realized how much his own face was giving away. Though maybe Dean was the only one who could read it.

Dean's look asked the question, _how bad is it?_

Sam looked away in response.

"Sam! Dean!" Cas's low voice interrupted all of their reveries. Cas came rushing into the library, his tie askew, blood still staining his trench coat. His eyes met Sam's for a brief moment, and there was something in them that made Sam straighten his back, suddenly a little more terrified. But then Cas broke the eye contact and turned toward Dean.

"We have a problem," Cas said. Dean rolled his eyes but Cas continued, "It's about Sam." That got Dean's attention. The older brother sat up and looked over at Sam with that hooded, worried expression that always made Sam feel like a badly behaved child. Sam wished Cas would just talk to _him_ instead of acting like he wasn't in the room.

"Spit it out, Cas," Sam said. His voice sounded tired even to him. The blood from his shoulder was starting to soak through his sleeve.

"The gunshot . . ." Cas said slowly, his eyes flickering between the two brothers as though he wasn't sure which one of them he was supposed to address. "Sam, it created a link between you and Chuck."

"Yeah, we already know that," Dean growled.

"Yes, but none of us knew the full power of it," Cas swallowed. "Sam and Chuck's life force are now linked. If we defeat Chuck . . ."

"Well we were never planning on killing Chuck anyway," Dean said, but his shoulders were tight with tension. He walked over to Sam like he wasn't even aware of it, his eyes freezing on Sam's blood-soaked sleeve.

"Anything that happens to Sam, will happen to Chuck," Cas continued. "And vice versa."

Sam watched Dean swallow. He stood up and clapped his brother and the shoulder with his good arm, trying to convey the _Don't worry, we've got this_, look he'd perfected over the years.

"So . . ." It was Gabriel, speaking for the first time since Castiel had entered the room. "The fact that our boy Sammy is bleeding out at this very moment . . ."

"Could mean that God is also bleeding out, yes," Cas agreed.

"And if he dies . . ."

"Sam's not going to die!" Dean snarled.

_No,_ Sam thought, _No, I can't die. If I die the whole world will come to an end. And if I live Chuck will just destroy it. _"This doesn't change anything," Sam said. "We still need more research to figure out how to take down Chuck, how to trap him, or defeat him in some way."

"It does change things Sam," Cas said sadly. "Because you're dying. Right now."

"We're gonna have to find a way to save him," Gabriel muttered. "Even if that means . . ."

"Working with the almighty," Dean covered his eyes and took a deep breath.

Sam stayed quiet, though inwardly he wanted nothing more than to scream.


End file.
